


First Time Caller

by pianoforeplay



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pianoforeplay/pseuds/pianoforeplay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared's a phone sex operator and Jensen's new to the whole gay thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Time Caller

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a fill for blindfold-spn and initially posted [here](http://pianoforeplay.livejournal.com/38251.html) on 7/22/2010.
> 
> (ETA: Now with bonus [sequel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/268333)!)

Jensen nearly hangs up three separate times before the guy's voice even comes through the line: "Hey, this is Sam.” It's light and warm, more openly friendly than oozing with sex. “Who’m I talkin’ to?” There’s a twang there, too. Somehow surprising and familiar both at once and Jensen stumbles with his response.

"Hi, uhm. Do I. Uh. Do I really need to give my name?"

"N'ah. Not if you don't want to, but it kinda helps me out. If it's easier, you can just make something up.”

"Oh," Jensen replies, shifting a little on the couch. He wipes the palm of his free hand over his knee, fidgeting before tucking it under his other arm. Bites at his lip as he tries to think of a name that doesn't sound too stupid. He's pretty sure the guy he's talking to isn't actually named Sam, but it's probably in bad form to question it. He wonders why the guy picked something so innocuous and bland instead of Fabio or Maxx or Dirk or whatever. He wonders if the guy has a whole persona and backstory built around ‘Sam’ or if it changes from caller to caller and, if so, what it is that made him decide to be Sam this time around.

“You still there?”

Jensen jumps a little, knocked from his thoughts by the voice, still low and tinged with amusement this time. And maybe some concern, but it’s kind of hard to tell.

“Yeah. Sorry. Uhm.” Sucking in a breath, he darts a glance down at the coffee table. His roommate has left out a tattered paperback thriller and Jensen latches onto the author’s name plastered in large type across the cover. “Dean. You can call me Dean.”

“Okay, then. Hi, Dean. Tell me about yourself.”

Once again, it’s not what Jensen’s expecting and he lets out a quiet breath, strained and nervous as it tips into a laugh. “Thought this was a sex line, not therapy.”

“Well, sex can be kinda therapeutic. Way more fun, too.”

“And more expensive.”

“Yeah, three bucks a minute adds up pretty quick,” Sam says and then his voice drops just a little. “Guess I better make it worth it, huh?”

Swallowing, Jensen shifts again. Says, “Uh. Yeah, I guess. We should probably. I’m really not. I’ve never done this before.”

“I kinda got that impression,” Sam replies, his voice still warm enough that Jensen can’t even find room to be offended. Embarrassed, yes, but he’s fairly sure that’s par for the course all things considered. “Don’t worry, man. Just relax. Want me to tell you a little about me instead?”

“Okay,” Jensen says before forcing himself to take a breath. “Yeah, that sounds good. You can, uh. Maybe tell me what you look like?”

Sam chuckles, a low rumble that works its way down Jensen’s spine. “Well, I’m tall,” he says, quieter.

“How tall?” Jensen asks, though he isn’t sure why he wants specifics.

“‘Bout six-five or so.”

“Jesus,” Jensen laughs, still a little strained. “You play basketball?”

“Not much anymore,” Sam says. “You not into tall guys?”

“No, it’s not-- I haven’t. I’m six-one so I don’t usually--”

“Ahh,” Sam replies and Jensen is more than happy to let him connect the dots. Even if those dots are more than a little misleading. Because it’s not so much that Jensen hasn’t had much experience with taller guys as he hasn’t had much experience with guys at _all_. This whole gay thing is a pretty new revelation and he isn’t entirely sure what to do with it. Hasn’t even really talked to anyone about it yet and doesn’t really plan to for awhile. One step at a time.

So maybe this _is_ a little like therapy. Not that he’s about to admit that.

“I’m pretty built, too,” Sam continues. He sounds oddly apologetic and Jensen can’t help wondering if the guy’s lying. Hell, if he can make up a name there’s no reason he can’t make up everything else. Chances are good Jensen’s actually talking to some forty year-old balding guy munching on Funyons in his parents’ basement. “I can bench about 300 pounds.”

“Bullshit,” Jensen says before he can stop himself.

“No, seriously,” Sam says, a little more insistent though it’s clear by his tone he’s smiling. “You got a computer? I’ll send you a picture.”

Jensen’s tempted to take Sam up on the offer, but the guy could send him a picture of just about anyone and Jensen would have no idea. Plus, that’s not the point anyway; this is supposed to be all about the fantasy. So, whatever. Jensen can fantasize.

“Maybe later,” he says, switching his phone from one ear to the other. “So you’re built like a brick shithouse. What else?”

“You so don’t believe me.”

“I believe you,” Jensen lies. “I actually look like Brad Pitt’s hotter younger brother. You know. Just in case you were wondering.”

Sam laughs, brighter this time and Jensen feels it all the way to his toes. “I’m sure you do, man,” he says and Jensen can’t tell if he means that genuinely or not. Isn’t sure he much cares either way. “You got a beard or clean-shaven?”

“Clean,” Jensen says, instinctively bringing his free hand to his face to smooth his palm over his chin. “Five o’clock shadow. That’s about it.”

“Mmm, nice,” Sam says. “So if I kissed you right now I’d get some stubble burn.”

“If you kissed me right now, I’d be marveling at advancements in technology,” Jensen says. “Or maybe wondering about my own sanity.”

“I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Sam’s voice is lower then, closer to what Jensen had been expecting from the start. He’d almost laugh except for how it sends an immediate rush to his dick, face heating inexplicably as he swallows. “Yeah?” he asks and then cringes because _seriously_? How stupid could he possibly sound right now?

But Sam doesn’t even hesitate with his answer. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d keep it slow, though. Let you control it for awhile. Don’t wanna scare you off.”

“What, am I Bambi?” Jensen says, partly in annoyance, but mostly amused. “Come on, give me some credit here.”

“So tell me how you’d kiss me then,” Sam answers, smile still clear in his tone.

“Well, first I’d find a step ladder.” Sam laughs, broad and genuine, and Jensen grins in an odd sort of triumph before continuing. “Or maybe just wrap a hand around the back of your neck and pull you down. Make you open up to me.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, voice a little quieter. “Yeah, I would, no question.”

“So sure about that, huh?”

“Positive,” Sam replies, lower still. There’s a firmness in his tone that makes Jensen’s dick perk up and take notice, blood rushing hot as Sam continues. “I’d want your tongue in my mouth, find out what you taste like, what sounds I could get you to make just from a kiss. Do you like it a little rougher, Dean? Want me to push it deeper, bite at your lips and suck on your tongue? Want me to fuck your mouth like I’d fuck your ass?”

Jensen’s breath catches and he spreads his legs wider, giving himself a little more room in his jeans, the hand on his thigh gripping and releasing and gripping again as he struggles not to touch himself.

“I’d wanna get my hands on you,” Sam growls then. “Push them up under your shirt, grab onto your waist while I kiss you so hard our lips go numb. I’d push in closer, get my thigh between your legs. Wanna feel how hard you are, Dean. Feel your dick right up against me. Fuck, I bet you have a gorgeous cock.”

Again, Jensen nearly wants to laugh. But it gets stuck in his throat, morphing somehow into a strangled groan as his hand slides closer to his crotch.

“Bet you’re nice and thick,” Sam continues. “Wanna get my hand in your jeans, man. Feel you pulse in my fist, leak down over my fingers. Wanna get you all wet, man, wet as a girl.”

“ _Fuck_.” It comes out a punched sort of whisper, Jensen’s head falling back against the couch cushion as he sinks down lower and finally lets his hand slide up over the growing bulge in his jeans.

“Tell me what it looks like,” Sam continues, voice hushed. “Length. Width. Cut or uncut.”

That’s enough to make Jensen actually laugh, face heating as the sound pushes past his throat. “You want me to describe my dick to you?”

“Rather have a picture, but this’ll have to do for now.”

“What if I tell you it’s four inches and curves to the left?”

“I won’t believe you,” Sam says, voice still a low rumble. “C’mon, pull it out. Tell me what it looks like. Are you hard yet? Hard as I am?”

Jensen sucks in another shuddered breath and then bites at his lip as his fingers drag up the zipper of his jeans, hesitating at the top button. He feels ridiculous, face hot from arousal and embarrassment before Sam’s voice cuts through the line.

“Please, Dean. I can tell you about mine if you want,” he says, but doesn’t even wait for Jensen’s reply before continuing. “I’m about eight inches. Cut. Good girth. I’ve got brown hair and the pubes match, but I keep it pretty well groomed. Just a few curls. Fuck, I’d love to see your face right there, buried against me, breathing me in. Bet you’d just fucking crumble, all hot for it. You like sucking cock, Dean? You like havin’ your face fucked?”

There’s a rustling sound then and Jensen can picture Sam getting his jeans open, this tall and broad, faceless guy reaching in to pull his dick out. Using Sam’s description, Jensen pictures it, long and thick, a circumcision scar marring the smooth skin up near the crown, a few dark curls framing the base.

“Are you leaking?” he asks, voice a hushed whisper. He has no idea where it comes from, but he suddenly desperately needs to know.

“Fuck, just about,” Sam answers on a low laugh and Jensen arches his hips up against his palm, savoring the friction as he bites back a moan. “So hard, man. Want your mouth on me everywhere. Want you to suck me down.”

“Yeah,” Jensen breathes, his eyes slipping shut. He pictures his lips stretched around Sam’s dick, tasting the slit with just the tip of his tongue. He’s never gone that far, never had another guy’s dick in his mouth, though he’s been thinking about it more and more lately. Ever since that stupid drunken kiss and fumbled handjob at Danneel’s Christmas party. He wonders how Sam would taste, how much of him Jensen could take, wonders if he’d like the feel of someone’s dick on his tongue or if it’d freak him out.

Judging by how hard he’s getting just thinking about it, Jensen’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

“Would you make it nice and messy?” Sam says then, voice rougher. “Get me all wet with your spit? Gag yourself on me?”

“Yeah,” Jensen says, finally pulling open the top button of his jeans and easing down the zipper. “Yeah, I’d. I’d want you to fuck my mouth,” Jensen says, trying to ignore how ridiculous the words sound. “Fill me up with your cock. Make me choke on it.”

“Jesus,” Sam groans and Jensen echoes it as he pulls his dick free of his boxers. “Make me all wet for you, Dean. Suck me down your throat. But don’t-- don’t let me come, okay? Don’t let me come yet.”

Jensen grunts then, hips arched as he jerks himself slow and dry. “What?” he pants as he blinks up at the ceiling. “Why not?”

“‘Cause I wanna fuck you,” Sam says, voice a little more strained. “Want you to make me all slick for your hole, so wet I can slide right on into you.”

The sound Jensen makes then is nothing short of totally embarrassing and he tightens his grip, muscles clenching instinctively at the thought of having something, _anything_ , inside him. He’s thought about it, of course. Has toyed with the idea more and more and has even done a little exploring on his own a couple times in the shower. But up until now it’s felt like more of an abstract idea, just a thing some guys got off on. Not _him_. And here Sam is putting it into words, making it seem like an actual possibility regardless of the fact that they’re not even in the same room. Hell, probably not even in the same _zip code_.

“You like getting fucked, Dean?” Sam growls, tone pitched lower, almost threatening. Jensen feels his dick thicken and gives himself another quick stroke, skin bunching at the tip before he drags it back to let the cool air of the room kiss the pink, exposed tip. “How do you like it? Hard and fast? Slow and deep? Tell me.”

“I don’t--” Jensen cuts himself off with a groan as he swipes his thumb over the blunt head of his dick and shudders. He smears a bead of pre-come as his hips arch for more and a confession falls from his lips. “Never. Never done it.”

“So you’re a top?” Sam says, not missing a beat. “That’s even better, man. Even better. God, yeah, I’d love to ride your dick.” Sam groans then and Jensen’s stomach tightens, mounting arousal and relief all mixing together. Once again, he’s letting Sam connect the dots, letting him draw his own conclusions. “Still wanna know what it looks like. Tell me what I have to look forward to, Dean. Tell me how gorgeous your cock is.”

Jensen whimpers, embarrassment running hot through his veins even as he strokes himself harder, wrist and hips falling into a practiced rhythm.

“Please, Dean,” Sam breathes. “ _Please_.”

“Fuck,” Jensen grunts before sucking in a breath. He glances down at himself, stares at the slide of his hand over his cock and says, “I’m about-- about seven inches. Give or take. Uncut.” Sam lets out an appreciative groan then, loud and low, and Jensen clings to it, lets it push him onward. “And I’m so fucking hard right now. God, _Sam_. Wish I had your mouth on me. Wanna pound into you. Wanna come down your throat.”

“Fuck, _yeah_ ,” Sam says. Jensen can hear the change in his breathing, how it’s gone short and shallow. Swears he can hear the _shush-shush_ of flesh on flesh through the telephone line, not quite matching his own rhythm. “I’d drink you up. Milk you dry and lick up every last drop. That what you want, Dean? Want me to suck you all clean? Or do you wanna empty your load in my ass? Fill up my tight hole with your come?”

Jensen gasps, hips snapping roughly as an image of himself fucking into Sam sears across his eyelids. He doesn’t even know what Sam looks like, just pictures someone tall and broad with wide shoulders and a narrow waist, bent over with Jensen’s hands on his hips, just taking it as Jensen pounds into him.

“I like it slow and deep,” Sam says then, voice still pitched low, straining. “Like I’m bein’ claimed. Gonna fuck me like that? Like you own me? Get in there all good and deep so I feel it _days_.”

“Yes,” Jensen says, shuddering as his hand works faster, the muscles in his arm straining from the effort. “Fuck, _yes_.”

“Do it,” Sam growls, half plea and half demand. “Want it so bad, Dean. Want your gorgeous, thick dick inside me. Want you so deep I can fucking _taste_ you. Wanna feel used, want your load leaking out my ass after. God, _Dean_. I’m gonna. Fuck, I’m close, man. Tell me you’re close.”

“Close,” Jensen answers, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face as he arches. “So close. Sam. _Fuck_.” His arms are burning, the one holding the phone shaking slightly as the other jerks his cock harder. Pleasure pools and coils at the base of his spine and then surges as he drops over the edge, pulsing hot and fast, strings of jizz hitting his shirt and coating his hand as he groans openly. Every upstroke squeezes out another dribble, grip tightening up at the head to pull out every drop, muscles in his thighs and abdomen drawn tight as it rocks through him.

Sam’s voice breaks through the haze of his orgasm, voice low and throaty. “Jesus Christ,” he says, still panting. “Your _voice_ , man. So fuckin’ hot.”

Jensen’s answering moan melts into a hiss as he accidentally brushes the tip of his over-sensitive dick, hips jerking helplessly as his he gives on last feeble spurt.

“You gonna come?” he asks as he starts to recover, still holding himself at the base, thumb massaging the shaft in slow, soothing circles. His throat feels raw, gravely for some reason he can’t explain. “Wanna hear it, Sam. Wanna hear you come for me.”

“Goddamn,” Sam says, nearly a growl once again. “Yeah, I’m gonna. Fuck, Dean. Wish you were in me. Feel so fuckin’ empty right now. Need to have your cock fillin’ me up, want you to just fuckin’ _pound_ me right now, your balls slappin’ against my ass. Make it hurt. Make me _feel_ you. So good. God, yeah, make it so fuckin' good. Shit, Dean. Dean, I'm-- fuck, I'm coming. Coming all over myself. Oh Jesus, _yeah_."

Jensen closes his eyes as he listens to Sam’s climax, tries to picture a face to match the voice. It’s pretty futile, but Jensen doesn’t cares, his dick giving another twitch as Sam’s throaty moans and filthy words melt into quiet, stilted whimpers.

“So, uh.” Jensen swallows and then licks his lips, gently releasing his dick before wiping his hand over his jeans. “Is this a good time to tell you I’ve never done this before?”

Sam chuckles, the tone different this time. Rich and satisfied. “Mentioned that already.”

“No, I mean. I’ve never.” Jensen stops and spares half a second to wonder why he’s even bringing this up. It’s not like he knows the guy or anything. But hell, they just got each other off so it’s not like he has much more to hide. What difference does it make? “I’ve never fucked a guy before.”

“Oh,” Sam says, quiet. Jensen can’t read the guy’s tone and doesn’t even know why he’s trying. It’s not like it matters. This isn’t a confessional; Sam isn’t a priest there to judge his transgressions and dole out his penance.

Though, hell if that isn’t giving him ideas.

“So you’re--”

“I’ve never been fucked either,” Jensen says, cutting Sam off in his sudden need to just put it all out there. “Never, uhm. Fuck, I’ve never even blown a guy.”

Sam doesn’t respond to that for a long moment. Long enough that the familiar sting of embarrassment starts to creep in, slow and toxic. Just as Jensen opens his mouth to give a rushed goodbye, he hears Sam let out a heavy exhale.

“Fuck, that’s hot and I don’t even know _why_.”

Jensen blinks, the prickling under his skin abating somewhat. “Uhm.”

“I have a confession, too,” Sam says.

“Okay,” Jensen replies for lack of anything more eloquent. He still feels oddly exposed, his palms aching and stomach twisting as the sweat and come start to cool on his skin.

“I don’t usually,” Sam starts before quickly cutting himself off and beginning again. “I take about a dozen or so calls a night. And as much as I’d like to be physically capable of getting off that often, I’ve had to get really, _really_ good at faking.”

“Oh,” Jensen says, stomach plummeting. It makes sense, of course. Fake name, fake physical description, fake orgasm. It shouldn’t matter. But for some reason it does and Jensen feels suddenly even _more_ pathetic. He really hadn’t thought that was possible.

“No. Listen. Dean.”

“My name’s not Dean,” Jensen cuts in, tone sharp with shame. He glares down at his lap, his flaccid dick still hanging loose from his jeans and huffs a breath.

“I know,” Sam says, quieter then. Almost placating. “My name’s not Sam.”

“Right. I got that.”

“It’s Jared,” he continues, seemingly ignoring Jensen’s increasing irritation. “I’m twenty-two, originally from San Antonio and currently a senior at UT. I have two dogs and a seriously obnoxious roommate. I like traveling and working out and root for the Spurs and the Cowboys and couldn’t give a shit about baseball or hockey. I really am six-five and can bench... well, almost 300 pounds. I maybe fibbed a little there.”

Jensen swallows, unsure of why Sam-- or _Jared_ , apparently -- is telling him all this. Or what exactly he’s supposed to do with it.

“And seriously, man,” he continues before Jensen can ask, “that’s the first time I’ve come in in months. Uh. On the job, I mean. Obviously, I’ve come on my own. And with other people a couple times. I’ve kinda had a dry run lately, but that’s not. Whatever. Not important.”

Jensen manages a small smile then, relaxing slightly as Jared seems to grow increasingly awkward. It makes Jensen feel like they’re back on even ground and slouches a little on the couch and rests one foot on the edge of the coffee table.

“This is part of the schtick, isn’t it?” he says, both wary and mildly amused. “Bet you tell this to everyone.”

“I don’t,” Jared says, quietly insistent. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I really don’t. I also don’t give out my name. They, uh. There’s kind of a policy against that, actually.”

“So now you’re gonna get fired?”

“Maybe.”

“You are so full of shit.”

“Dude, you can believe what you want,” Jared says, laughing a little, though Jensen doesn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice. “I’m just tellin’ you. I spend hours every night helping people get their rocks off and this is the first time in a long time anyone’s managed to return the favor. So, uh. Thanks, I guess.”

Jensen still isn’t convinced it’s not all part of the act, but if that’s the case, Jared’s a hell of an actor. If nothing else, Jensen feels he should be commended for that much.

Quietly, he clears his throat and scratches at his chin. His fingers still smell like come and he indulges in a sniff before dropping his hand back to his thigh.

“You’re at least making up the Spurs thing, right?” he asks, a hint of a smile curving his lips.

Jared laughs again, the sound of it now familiar and startlingly warm. “That’s what you’re choosing to focus on, huh?”

“Well, that and you actually used the term _get their rocks off_. I think that died out in the 60s, man. How old are you really?”

“Fuck you,” Jared says, though there’s nothing but amusement in his tone and Jensen grins wider. “You’re kind of an ass, you know that?”

“It’s been brought to my attention once or twice, yeah,” Jensen says, still grinning. “But I’ve been told it adds to my general sex appeal, too. If you go for that kinda thing.”

“I think maybe I do. Have dinner with me.”

It’s not at all what Jensen’s expecting and he nearly trips into another laugh. Right until he realizes Jared’s not joking.

“You’re asking me out?”

“At the risk of losing my job, yeah. I am.”

“Dude.”

“C’mon, seriously. Just dinner, alright? Not a big deal.”

Jensen feels a familiar twist of panic in his gut and forces himself to take a breath. It’s ludicrous. The whole thing. Who calls a phone sex hotline and ends up getting asked out on a _date_? It’s like something out of a bad porno or a Judd Apatow movie. For all Jensen knows, Jared could be some kind of crazy serial killer who lures his victims into a false sense of security through the power of dirty talk.

But he could also be a pretty decent guy. A six foot-five decent guy with broad shoulders and a small waist for Jensen to grab onto and an eight inch dick.

He swallows against his better judgment and says, “How ‘bout coffee?”

Jared doesn’t answer right away, silent just long enough for Jensen to wonder if maybe it really is just a big act. But then Jared exhales, a rush of air and says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay. That sounds awesome.”

It’s highly possible Jensen will end up regretting this, but hell. He’s gotta start somewhere, doesn't he? One step at a time.

 **end.**

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] First Time Caller](https://archiveofourown.org/works/357198) by [heardtheowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heardtheowl/pseuds/heardtheowl), [pianoforeplay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pianoforeplay/pseuds/pianoforeplay)




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